Forgive me, papa
by wolf of infinity
Summary: Young Alfred gets into a fight with Arthur, and is troubled by guilt. However, when Arthur falls gravely ill, will he be given the chance to apologize...? One-shot, Arthur and Alfred, father-son relationship


_I've found myself completely in love with a relationship between Arthur and Alfred, or England and America, if you like. __Not the lovey dovey sort, but a father-son relationship ^^ It's just so adorable~ So I decided to write a little story, with some sadness and pain, and some love and sweetness. I hope you'll like it! Oh, and btw… please forgive me if the details of the story doesn't fit with the time England took care of America… ^_^'_

_Disclaimer: I do not own 'Axis Powers, Hetalia', or any of its characters._

oOoOo

The large house was quiet, almost eerily so. The little boy walking down the corridor gave a small sigh, looking out the windows at the furious snow dancing in the wind. Just looking at the bad weather made him shudder with cold, even if he was clad in a thick woollen sweater on top of his shirt.

The navy blue sweater was a little big and a little itchy at times, yes, but it was warm and had the distinct scent of food. Despite the fact that the food smelled awful, and had tasted worse, the scent made him feel somewhat calm and protected.

Reaching the stair case, he looked around quickly before leaping up on the wide oak banister, sliding down, even though he knew he wasn't really allowed to do so. He reached the bottom and gave another sigh of shear boredom before jumping down onto the floor. The hall was a bit cold, but the boy paid it no mind. The house was huge, and it was hard to get large rooms like this properly heated. It wasn't like anyone spent a lot of time there, anyway.

Heading over to the kitchen, the scent of food made him grimace slightly. That was right… their house keeper had taken a few days off, which meant that he'd have to eat _his_ cooking… A word that he knew wasn't very gentleman-like crossed his thoughts, but he knew better than to voice it out loud.

Opening the door to the kitchen, he heard grumbling and coughed as dark smoke rose from the oven. He watched, a little amused, as his tall, slender guardian, with an apron on top of his flawless suit, hurriedly picked up something and coughed, waving away the smoke as he turned the oven off and hurried over to the window. It was either letting in the freezing winds or dying of smoke inhalations, and the former sounded more tempting.

"Good morning, Arthur," the boy said, giggling a little into his hand. The Englishman gave a small sound of surprise as he turned around. His blonde hair, which usually was rather messy, seemed even more dishevelled, and his green eyes looked tired and annoyed.

"Oh, Alfred… morning," he grumbled, sighing and running a hand through his hair. His eyes studied the blackened… _something_ on the stove. "Cereal?" he then muttered and went to fetch the package, along with milk. Alfred was quietly thankful that he didn't have to eat the food, and sat down by the table without a sound. He could tell that his guardian was in a bad mood, and knew that it was probably due to the stress that had been building up these last days.

He knew for a fact that the man hardly slept these days, too busy working on some political stuff. He rarely left his study except from when he was eating, and Alfred had a creeping suspicion that if he hadn't wanted to set a good example, he wouldn't even bother to do that.

"There, eat up," Arthur grumbled as he handed Alfred the bowl with cereal.

"Thanks," Alfred said quickly. The other always told him to mind his manners, so that he'd grow up to become a gentleman, and although Alfred found it hard at times, he really wanted to be a gentleman. Like Arthur.

Arthur shrugged, walking over and taking some of the blackened food onto a plate, walking back to the kitchen table and sitting down.

"Wha- You're eating _that_?" Alfred couldn't help the exclamation that broke from his lips, and immediately knew that he should have kept his mouth shut, as Arthur gave him a sharp look.

"It's just a little burnt," he said, and the chilly tone was unmistakable. Arthur hated it when people insulted his cooking, no matter how bad it was. Alfred knew that, but that didn't stop him from eying the stuff with a grimace.

"A little burnt? It looks like… like… eww!" he couldn't find a better word for it. Inwardly he kicked himself for speaking without thinking.

"Eat your food and stay quiet, Alfred," Arthur said, his voice quiet and hard. Alfred swallowed, turning back to his own food. He couldn't help the pout that broke out on his lips. Arthur didn't have to be so cold, he hadn't meant to offend him…

The food was eaten in silence, and Alfred couldn't help but watch with a mix of awe and horror as Arthur ate the food without as much as making a grimace. As the meal slowly crept towards the end, he wondered if he should voice what he had wanted to ask his guardian or not.

"What do you want to say, Alfred?" Arthur asked with a sigh after he swallowed the last bites of his breakfast. Alfred started in surprise, unaware that he'd been that obvious.

"Um… I was wondering…" he began, feeling his heart sink as he could see that Arthur still didn't look at him, simply eying the storm outside the window.

"What?" the man asked after a while, as Alfred tried to swallow his hesitation.

"Do you want to play with me…?" the question sounded ridiculous now that he voiced it. He knew Arthur was a busy man, who rarely had time to spend with him to play. Sure, it happened on occasions, and Alfred loved those occasions, but more often than not, he'd be busy with some work-related stuff.

"Alfred, I don't have time for that," Arthur sighed, a slight frown on his face as he looked at Alfred. The young boy had been prepared for that answer, but still felt a wave of anger and sadness bubble up inside.

"You always say that! 'I don't have time, Alfred', 'go play by yourself, Alfred', 'I have to work, Alfred'! You never have time for me!"

"That's enough, you know I try to be with you as much as I can," Arthur said strictly, his green eyes eying Alfred evenly.

"No, you don't! You hate spending time with me, I'm sure of it! Why would you prefer to sit in that boring office all day and all night!" Alfred cried out, standing from his chair and staring at his guardian with angry tears burning in his eyes.

"For God's sake, you think it's a piece of pie to be a nation? I can't slack off from my work, you know that-"

"No I don't! I don't understand! Why can't you just take a break?" Alfred saw Arthur pinch the brim of his nose, a sure sign that he was irritated, perhaps even angry.

"Alfred-"

"No! You never have time for me anyway, so why didn't you just leave me out there alone? I'm sure I'm just a b-bother to you!" the tears escaped his eyes now, as his fears crept out along with his angry words. Arthur looked stricken at that.

"You're not-"

"You're lying!" Alfred looked around, and with an urge of anger and pain, he grabbed an old vase standing on a small table in the corner. With a hiccup he threw it at the floor, listening as it made a loud, shattering crash against the tiles, sending broken pieces flying.

"Alfred!" Arthur's voice was shocked and hard, and he'd stood, suddenly reminding Alfred just how tall and strong he was.

"I hate you!" Alfred just cried, running out of the kitchen, afraid to look back. He didn't see how Arthur's face paled as he fell back into his chair, staring after the boy's back with eyes that shone with shock and hurt.

oOo

Alfred buried his head into his pillow, crying silently. His anger had slowly passed, and had now been replaced by regret. He hadn't meant what he said. He knew that Arthur had to work, and that he tried to spend time with him whenever he could… He also knew for a fact that he loved the man for taking him in and taking care of him. Of course he didn't hate him! But… did Arthur know that…?

Sniffling, Alfred sat up, looking out his window and finding that the storm was still colouring the world a depressing and chaotic white. A glance at the clock on the wall told him that he'd been lying there like that for hours. It wasn't like him at all; usually he couldn't even sit still for three seconds at a time…

Standing slowly, he wondered what to do. An idea suddenly hit him, and he smiled weakly, drying away the tears before quietly sneaking out into the corridor. On light, soundless feet, he walked over to the door to Arthur's study. Listening to the door, he couldn't hear anything. Another sound suddenly made him start with surprise, and he blinked, padding over to the door to the bath room. Laying his ear against the door, he heard the unmistakeable sound of someone throwing up.

He didn't know what to do. Was Arthur sick…? The sound of a toilet flushing and water running made him gasp, looking around and quickly darting behind a large plant standing a bit away. It was just in time, as the door opened and Arthur came out. He looked a little pale, and walked as though he was in pain, one hand on his stomach.

"Maybe eating that stuff wasn't too healthy after all…" the man murmured to himself, unaware of the boy watching him. The door to the study closed behind him and Alfred finally dared to go over, hearing shuffling of papers and stuff. It seemed he was ok…

Oh, right, his plan. He quietly hurried down the corridor and down the stair case to the kitchen. There, he found the pieces of the vase collected and put aside for the time being. Lucky! Collecting the broken vase, he felt another wave of guilt as he hurried off to the storage room, where he knew the glue was kept.

It was a fairly big and messy room, and by the time he found the glue, he was dusty and dirty from searching through the old things. He fell to his knees and his eyes were determined as he started putting the pieces together.

"This is easy, just like a puzzle," he murmured to himself as he started sticking the parts together. After a while, it was clear that it wasn't as easy as he thought. The glue seemed to get stuck in places it wasn't meant to, and the end result was jagged and uneven lines running across the vase, some smaller pieces missing here and there.

Alfred looked at it with critical blue eyes, before taking an old piece of cloth and trying to wipe away the glue that refused to keep inside the cracks. When he was finished, it did look a bit better, yet still quite ugly…

"He's never going to forgive me…" he whispered to himself, running his small hand across the old thing. Well, at least he did his best. He figured he might show it to Arthur anyway, and hope for the best.

Taking the heavy vase into his arms after reassuring himself the glue had dried and would hold, he went out into the hall and up the stairs with some difficulties. The vase was about half his size, and made it hard to coordinate up the steps without tripping.

The trip down the corridor was tense, and he found himself slowing his pace, starting to grow afraid again. What if Arthur was still angry with him…? What if he kicked him out and refused to talk to him again? What if… No, he wouldn't abandon him. Alfred swallowed. He wouldn't, right…?

Reaching the large door to the study, he bit his lower lip nervously. Eventually he closed his eyes and opened them again, determined to go through with this. He was a small colony, but one day he would be a large nation that people could look up to and rely on! He would grow up to be a gentleman like Arthur; strong and fearless!

His small fist knocked on the door, steadily at first, then more hesitantly as he got no answer.

"Arthur…?" he tried calling meekly after a while, his resolve crumbling as he still heard nothing. It was almost evening now. He'd been too caught up in his vase-mending to notice. Knocking again, he still received no answer.

Setting down the vase, he reached for the door knob, pulling it down and opening the door slowly. The large desk was filled with paper work, and the office seemed empty.

"Arthur…? Are you there…?" Alfred asked, wondering if his guardian had fallen asleep over his work, as he couldn't see the other sitting behind the desk. Walking over with slow, cautious steps, he came around to the other side, stopping at the sight that met him.

"Arthur…?"

The Englishman was hunched over his desk, forehead resting against the solid wood as his arms held his stomach where he sat. Alfred felt a sting of fear at the sound of shuddering, uneven gasps for air.

"Y-you ok?" he asked worriedly, biting the inside of his cheek as Arthur tried to sit up, tossing a sideward glance at him.

"Y-yes, just a stomach… stomach ache," he murmured, and his voice couldn't hide the pain that was evident in his glassy eyes.

Alfred stood silently for a while, before remembering what he came there for in the first place. He quickly ran over and grabbed the vase, carrying it over with some difficulty.

"I tried to fix it… It's not really good, but…" he bit his lip as Arthur watched him with surprise and something else he couldn't quite identify.

"Alfred, I-" he was broken of as he took a sharp intake of breath, his face paling even more, so that it resembled the ashen grey shade of the papers on his desk. His hands trembled where it clutched the right side of his stomach. He moved to stand from his chair, but gave a choked cry and collapsed to the floor.

"Arthur!" Alfred cried with shock and fear, feeling his heart beat wildly inside his chest as he ran over to his guardian's side. The Englishman was clearly struggling to breathe properly, eyebrows pinched together in pain and cold sweat glistening on his skin. "W-what's wrong? Arthur, w-what's going on?" Alfred cried, afraid to touch him in case it would make the pain worse.

"D-damn…" he heard Arthur gasp between breaths, but then it seemed the pain became too much, and he passed out.

"Arthur…? ARTHUR!" Alfred cried, trembling as he bent down. He felt himself thank God and whatever he could think of as he felt the feverish breath on his cheek. He was still alive!

Standing up, he looked around, wondering what to do. He had to get help! Remembering the phone down on the first floor, he sped of down the corridor, nearly falling as he stumbled down the stairs and over to the phone. Who would he call…? He couldn't remember the emergency number, despite Arthur making him memorize it not too long ago. A note suddenly caught his eyes and he looked over, finding a few numbers listed down there.

He didn't recognize any of the names, and started feeling cold dread filling his body when he reached the number second to the bottom, along with a name he knew. He dialled the number with a hand that was shaking so much it was hard to do it right.

Holding the receiver to his ear, he felt tears run down his cheeks as only the steady tone in the other end could be heard.

"P-please, pick up…!" he cried out into the silent hall, and nearly started giving up hope. Suddenly there was a click on the other end, and a deep, cheerful voice could be heard.

"Ah, Angleterre, to what do I owe the honour?" he said teasingly, and Alfred felt his heart skip a beat.

"Mr. F-Francis!" he cried, relieved beyond compare to hear the sound of the other man's voice. "It's A-Arthur! He's really sick, and t-threw up earlier! His s-stomach's hurting, and h-he's really p-pale!" it was all said so quickly that Francis could hardly catch a word of what was said between the heart wrecking sobs of the boy.

"Calm down, Alfred, and start over," Francis said, his voice for once serious as he caught on to the grave situation that had the boy this upset.

"I t-think he's d-dying!" Alfred cried with fear, and that was enough to make the Frenchman pale at the other end.

"I'll be there as quickly as I can, Alfred! Don't worry, it'll be ok! J-just take care of him until I get there, oui?"

"O-ok," Alfred sniffled.

"Good boy, be strong now!"

"Yeah…"

The line went dead and for a moment he stood there, feeling terribly alone and vulnerable. Then he took a deep breath and ran back up to Arthur's study.

The other man still didn't move, lying in the same position as earlier. Alfred looked around, spotting the sofa at the other side of the room. Running over, he grabbed a pillow and hurried back, gently lifting the Englishman's head and pushing the pillow under it, in an attempt to make him a little more comfortable, even if he was unconscious. As a second thought, he fetched a blanket as well and put it over the man's body.

"I'm sorry, Arthur," he whispered to the empty room. Guilt ate at his heart as he thought of the words spoken at the breakfast. "I d-don't hate you! I'm so sorry, I d-don't know why I said that…" he took Arthur's hand between his own, holding it tight. It was cold.

"You have to b-be ok… I d-don't know what to do if you're not here… I d-don't care if you just work and cook me b-bad food… I just want you to b-be ok!" he trembled, sitting on the floor next to the man he'd come to look at as a father, holding his hand to his chest.

Arthur didn't respond, simply lay there, his face furrowed in pain even while unconscious. At least it was a sign that he was still alive, Alfred thought as he reached out, gently pushing some strands of hair out of Arthur's face.

Alfred lost track of time as he sat there, crying and murmuring about everything and nothing. He found that there were so many things he had taken for granted, forgetting to be thankful, and realized that he rarely apologized for the times he was being difficult or troubling.

Without really noticing, he started thanking the man for everything he could think of. For cooking food for him – no matter how bad –, for comforting him when it was thundering, or when he woke up from a nightmare, for reading him good night stories and playing with him. For giving him a safe home.

He went over to apologizing for every thing he could think of. For being unreasonable, for taking up his precious time, for being loud and annoying. For crying when he was scared, or shouting when he was angry. For constantly getting into trouble that Arthur needed to get him out of.

Looking up, he found that Arthur seemed even stiller than before, and his heart nearly stopped as he checked for breath yet again. Thank God, he was still breathing, but it was weak and laboured, barely audible. He was fading, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it…!

"N-no, don't die! Y-you can't! Arthur…! PAPA, wake up!" he begged. "Please wake up! P-papa!"

The distinct sound of doors slamming opening and running steps coming up the stair case shook him into action and he stood, running out into the corridor.

"Mr. Francis!" he gasped, relief flooding him as the other man was over at his side in a few, long strides.

"It's ok, I'm here now, little soldier!" he said gently, his accented voice unusually soft and serious. Alfred sniffled as the Frenchman ruffled his hair, before running into the study.

"Angleterre…!" he breathed, quickly bending down and shakily feeling for pulse. "_Dieu merci_…!" He knew that he had to get help, but he also had to find out what was wrong. Alfred had said something about a stomach ache… Quickly tossing the blanket aside, his hands moved almost fearfully to lower right of the man's stomach. He pressed it slightly with his fingers, and found the area rigid. Arthur moaned slightly, but when he released the pressure, he gave a sharp cry of agony.

"Oh no, not _that_…" Francis whispered breathlessly, paling considerably before trying to look braver than he felt, for Alfred's sake, if nothing else.

Bending down, he looped his arms under the lither man's knees and back, lifting him into his arms as gently as he could. He was deeply troubled when the movement only made the other moan weakly before falling back into oblivion.

"Come on, Alfred, we have to hurry to the hospital," Francis said with a mild glance at the little boy who nodded, following quickly out to the car that was waiting outside.

The ride to the hospital seemed to take painfully long time, as the weather was making it hard to drive safely. Such snow storms weren't very usual here, but it just had to happen right now, when the one thing they needed was a straight, clear way to the hospital.

Alfred watched Francis as he held the Englishman in his arms, whispering things in French. It sounded almost like he was praying, and Alfred followed the example. He hadn't really thought much about such things as God or heaven before, but now seemed as good as time as any to start.

_Please, God, don't take him away… If you can here me, please make him ok again…! I have to apologize… Please save him!_ He closed his eyes and tried his best to stay strong. I was hard, however, when he opened his eyes and saw the silent tears trickling down the Frenchman's pale face, landing in Arthur's hair. "_s'il vous plaît_…" the man whispered, over and over. Alfred didn't have to know French to understand the meaning of those words.

It might seem like the two did nothing but argue and fight, offend and tease each other. Still, they had been friends for a long time, Alfred knew, and when all came down to it, they cared a lot about each other.

Finally they reached the hospital, and Francis hurried out, practically running over to the doors of the emergency entrance, Alfred following as quickly as he could.

"Help!" Francis cried out as he came in. "You have to save him!" doctors came rushing, and Alfred watched fearfully as they got Arthur onto a stretcher, quickly rolling him away out of sight.

"P-papa…!" he cried, wanting to follow, but being stopped by Francis who bent down and pulled him into his arms. Alfred hugged him back, taking comfort in the scent of roses and warmth. The two couldn't do any more for him now. The only thing they could do was comfort each other and pray…

oOo

Alfred wasn't sure how long he sat in the waiting room, a blanket put around his shoulder by a nurse, glancing around every now and then with tired, worried eyes. Francis was filling out some paper work, and the expression on his face was grave. Even so, he cast a small smile in Alfred's direction from time to time, saying that everything was going to be ok.

To Alfred, it seemed that the words were Francis' way of getting himself and Alfred through the unbearable waiting. Outside, the storm was still raging, and it was dark now.

He was on his feet the moment he saw a doctor coming into the waiting room, glancing around before spotting them and heading over. Francis stood next to him, a hand on his head. It was trembling.

"You are with Mr. Kirkland, am I right?" the doctor asked. Francis nodded.

"How is he? He's all right, oui?" The doctor looked at his clip board, his eyes mild.

"It was appendicitis. We had to do an emergency surgery, but he's now in a stable condition. Had you gotten him here any later, however… There were just a matter of seconds, and he was quite lucky. Your friend is a fighter, and pulled through."

Francis fell back into his chair, murmuring quietly to himself in French. Alfred didn't quite understand what was going on.

"W-will he be ok?" he asked meekly, and the doctor crouched down his level, laying a hand on his shoulder with a smile.

"He'll probably be just fine, as long as he gets enough rest the next couple of days," he said, and Alfred felt a load lifting from his heart. The tears he'd somehow managed to keep controlled while he was sitting there now fell freely and he felt Francis pick him up, holding him tight.

"You hear that, he's ok! He'll be ok!" Francis chuckled and Alfred could hear how his voice quivered with emotion.

"He'll need to stay here for a few days. You can see him now if you like, though not for too long, and only if you don't disturb him."

They nodded eagerly and followed the doctor down a corridor to Arthur's room. It was dim lit, the silence broken only by steady breathing and the even beeping of a heart monitor. Alfred was almost afraid to go over to the bed, his previous thoughts of guilt and sorrow making him afraid that Arthur would still be mad at him.

He looked better now, his skin not quite as terribly ashen, although it was still far too pale. Alfred stood by the bed, and felt a new bout of tears escaping his eyes. It was a wonder that he still had tears left. It wasn't like him to be like this at all. He was the ever cheerful, energetic Alfred, not crying, scared Alfred…

"Looks so… fragile," Francis murmured, sitting down on a chair next to the bed, eying his friend warmly. Alfred was afraid that his sobs would disturb Arthur, as he stood there, burying his face in the mattress of the bed.

"Hey there… don't cry…" he heard a soft, barely audible voice murmur and gasped, looking up at Arthur who eyed him with tired, yet smiling eyes. Alfred stared at him for a moment, unable to believe what he was seeing for a moment, before he hiccupped and started repeating all his previous rambling. How sorry he was. How thankful he was. How scared he'd been, and how much Arthur meant to him. Everything was confessed through tears and sobs, and by the end of it, he felt much lighter.

"Come here," came the quiet reply and he looked up to see Arthur patting the mattress beside him. Alfred sniffled and climbed up, curling up next to his guardian, feeling Arthur's arm around him as he cried into his side. "It's ok," Arthur whispered comfortingly, caressing his hair softly, just like he did whenever Alfred had a bad dream, or got scared by shadows in his room. "You don't have to be afraid. Not with me. I don't care about the vase, or empty words. I do, however, care about you. Very, very much." It seemed to take a lot of energy to talk, and his voice was weak, but Alfred felt reassured by his words.

"I love you, papa," he said quietly and looked up to see the surprise in Arthur's eyes. It was quickly replaced by a warm smile, though, and Alfred could relax, closing his eyes as he listened to the steady heart beats of the man who had given him a home, a father and love.

Finally, the fear and hurt, the guilt and shame, gave in to peaceful sleep, and his papa's soothing humming and caressing touch followed him into the land of dreams, where no such thing as pain could harm them.

oOoOo

"_To forgive is the highest, most beautiful form of love. In return, you will receive untold peace and happiness.__"_

_- Robert Muller_

oOoOo

_I hope you enjoyed it~ Please give me a review and tell me what you thought of it ^^_

_Oui – yes_

_Dieu merci__ – thank God_

_S__'il vous plaît - please_


End file.
